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RowENA^s  Happy  Summer 


Happy  Summer 



With  pictures  by 



Copyright,  ZQiz,  by 
Rand  McNally  &  Company 

CHICAGO       AND       NEW       YORK 




I.  An  April  Shower 9 

II.  Who's  Who  in  Beauchampville     .     .     .     .  18 

III.  The  Saturday  Night's  Entertainment    .     .  26 

IV.  A  Romance  op  the  Civil  War 35 

V.  In  Quest  of  an  Acquaintance 44 

Vl.  A  Call  and  a  Letter  with  a  Crest      .     .     .  51 

VII.  Tea  at  the  Green  Cottage 60 

VIII.  An  Exchange  of  Talents 67 

IX.  A  Peace  Commissioner 76 

X.  A  Surprise  Party 81 

XI.  The  Beauchamp  Spirit 86 

XII.  The  Festival  of  All  Hallows 91 

XIII.  Losses  and  Gains 95 

XIV.  An  End  and  a  Beginning loi 




THE  great  drawing  room  was  very 
gloomy.  The  rain  was  falling  steadily 
without,  and  there  was  a  little  wind  blowing, 
that  brought  with  it  the  chill  of  winter,  though 
it  was  the  last  day  of  April.  Some  of  the 
chill  seemed  to  have  penetrated  the  dingy 
damask  curtains  and  cast  its  blight  on  the  little 
group  within. 

Betty,  curled  up  in  the  window-seat  with 
her  book,  trying  to  catch  the  fading  light, 
was  the  only  one  in  the  room  who  seemed 



comfortable.  But  then,  as  Aunt  Dilsey  said, 
"Miss  Betty,  she  dat  roun'  an'  rosy,  she  cain' 
look  discomfor'able." 

Sallie  was  strumming  in  a  desultory  way 
on  the  old  cracked  piano,  and  Rowena  was 
wandering  restlessly  about  the  room — "havin' 
the  fidgets,"  to  quote  Aunt  Dilsey  again.  ^ 

"Do  stop  that,  Sallie,"  she  cried  at  last, 
crossly,  "it 's  bad  enough  to  be  shut  up  in  the 
house,  and  have  everything  so  disagreeable, 
but  please  don't  beat  on  that  tin  pan." 

"Poor  old  Knabe,"  said  Sallie  good- 
naturedly,  letting  down  the  cover.  And 
then,  with  a  reproving  air:  "If  you  would 
find  something  to  do  you  would  n't  feel  so 

"Do!  There  is  plenty  to  do — plenty  of 
humdrum  things,  that  I  do  all  the  time,  and 
that  I  'm  tired  of  doing.  I  want  something 
pleasant.    Oh,  Sallie,  how  can  you  just  go  on 



doing  the  same  thing,  day  after  day,  and 
never  seem  to  mind  itT' 

*'But  I  don't  mind  it.  I — I  think  we  have 
a  great  deal  to  be  thankful  for." 

''Oh,  don't  quote  Aunt  Annie;  that  is  what 
she  always  says:  'My  dear,  you  have  much 
for  which  to  be  thankful.'  As  if  I  did  n't  know 
that  we  have  bread  and  meat,  and  a  roof  over 
our  heads,  and  clothes  to  cover  us, — though 
they  are  n't  always  in  the  prevailing  fashion, 
even  you  and  Aunt  Annie  must  admit.  I 
don't  want  just  things  that  I  need, — I  want 
things  that  I  want." 

"What  do  you  want  particularly — most  of 
all'?"  demanded  Betty  from  her  corner. 

Rowena  laughed. 

"Will  you  give  it  to  me,  if  I  tell  you?' 

"I  would  if  I  could,"  said  practical  Betty, 
"but  I  can't,  you  know." 

"I  '11  tell  you  what  she  wants,"  said  Sallie. 


**She  wants  to  be  rich,  as  Aunt  Dilsey  says 
we  were  'bef o'  de  wah' ;  and  she  wants  to  have 
beautiful  clothes  and  parties,  and  live  in  a 
little  gold  house  with  a  little  gold  fence 
around  it." 

"Or  in  a  big  castle,"  broke  in  Betty  the 
Bookworm,  "and  be  an  enchanted  princess 
imprisoned  there  in  the  tower,  and  have  a 
knight  come  riding  by  and  rescue  her,  and 
then  marry  him,  as  they  always  do." 

"No;  I'll  tell  you  what  I  want.  I  don't 
want  to  be  rich,  and  I  certainly  don't  want 
to  be  imprisoned,  not  even  for  the  reward  of 
marrying  a  knight.  But,  oh,  I  don't  want  to 
be  so  poor!  I  want  to  have  enough  not  to 
have  to  scrimp  and  pinch  and  wear  old  clothes, 
and  I  want  to  have  good  times  like  other  girls, 
now  and  then,  and  for  father  not  to  be  worried 
all  the  time ;  and  to  repair  the  old  place,  and 
live  as  we  did  before  the  war." 


"We  did  n't  live  before  the  war,"  said 
practical  Betty. 

"Oh,  you  know  what  I  mean — as  the 
Beauchamps  lived.  And  to  hold  up  my  head 
and  not  let  people  like  that  little  upstarty 
Lizzie  Lippin  make  me  feel  small,  when  she 
sails  by  me  in  her  silks  and  laces  and  says, 
'How-de-dooT  "  And  I  am  sorry  to  say  that 
Rowena  minced  across  the  room  and  bowed 
loftily,  setting  Betty  and  Sallie  off  into  peals 
of  laughter. 

"Well,  she  does  n't  make  me  feel  small," 
said  Sallie,  stoutly,  "and  I  'm  sure  you  hold 
your  head  high  enough,  Weeny.  Aunt  Dilsey 
says  you  're  'monst'ous  high-headed.'  " 

"Well,  I  don't  always  feel  as  high-headed 
as  I  look,"  said  Rowena. 

"There's  father!"  cried  Betty,  suddenly. 
The  door  was  thrown  open,  and  a  tall  man 
came  in  and  was  almost  carried  off  his  feet 


by  the  onslaught  of  his  three  undignified 

"Dear,  dear!"  he  said  at  last,  when  they 
had  pulled  him  down  into  a  chair  and  Rowena 
and  Sallie  were  seated,  one  on  each  wide 
chair-arm,  and  Betty  on  his  knee,  "what 
energetic  affection !  You  've  quite  taken  my 
breath  away!"  And  he  pinched  Betty's  rosy 
cheeks  and  smiled  on  them  all.  Such  a  ten- 
der smile  father  had,  that  made  his  pale  face 

"We  've  been  wishing  you  *d  come,  daddy," 
said  Rowena. 

"And  Weeny 's  been — "  began  Betty.  But 
a  peremptory  hand  was  put  over  Betty's  too 
garrulous  lips,  and  Rowena  said,  cheerily: 
"Daddy,  shall  I  ring  for  Dilsey  to  have 

"Supper  and  lights,"  said  Mr.  Beauchamp. 
"And  it  is  so  cool  for  April,  I  think  Jubal 



might  make  a  little  pine-knot  fire — don't  you 
think  so?  And  after  supper  you  must  tell  me 
all  you  have  been  doing  through  the  week, 
and  I  will  relate  my  adventures."  f-i- — - 

"Oh,  daddy  I  Do  I"  said  Betty.  "You 
always  have  such  nice,  funny  times  I" 

"Dear  old  daddy!"  said  Rowena  softly, 
stooping,  with  a  great  tenderness  on  her  face, 
to  kiss  the  little  bald  spot  on  the  top  of  his 

Aunt  Dilsey  opened  the  door  just  then,  and 
behind  her  came  old  Jubal,  bearing  a  huge 

"I  think  you  gwine  lak'  yo'  suppah  bettah 
in  heah,  Mawse  Gawge.  An'  Jubal,  he'll 
kennle  a  fiah  in  a  jiffy,  an'  you  won'  haf  to 
stir  yo'  foot.    I  know  you  's  plum  beat  out." 

"I  wonder,"  said  Mr.  Beauchamp,  sniffing, 
"if  that  can  be  hot  waffles  that  I  smell  ?  Now, 
Aunt  Dilsey,  how  did  you  know  I  was  waffle 


hungry'?     And  fried  chicken,  and  done  to  a 


"Lai  Mawse  Gawge,  I  done  know  dey  ain' 
goin'  give  you  nuttin'  iitten  to  eat  down  thar 
in  Raleigh,  so  I  jes  made  up  my  min'  I  'd 
fix  you  up  one  good  suppah!" 

"Good  Aunt  Dilsey,"  said  Rowena,  patting 
the  fat  old  yellow  cheeks,  "you  are  a  gold  mine 
in  yourself." 

"La,  run  long,  chil',  with  yo'  foolishness!" 
But  the  flattery  pleased  her. 

Aunt  Dilsey  was  big  and  fat  and  yellow, 
and  on  her  ample  bosom  many  Beauchamps 
had  been  cradled.  She  and  Uncle  Jubal  had 
belonged  to  the  Beauchamps  during  slavery 
days,  and  when  emancipation  had  come  they 
had  stayed  on,  faithful  to  Mawse  Gawge,  as 
they  would  be  till  death.  She  had  been  maid 
to  Mawse  Gawge's  sweetheart,  and  she  had 
married  Mawse  Gawge's  coachman  soon  after 


her  mistress  had  married  Mr.  Beauchamp. 
She  had  been  with  them  in  the  days  of  their 
prosperity,  and  had  gone  through  adversity 
with  them. 

She  it  was  who  had  nursed  each  one  of  the 
little  girl  babies  and  had  cared  for  the  mother 
in  her  long,  last  illness,  and  had  closed  the 
loved  eyes  when  death  came. 

The  girls  loved  her  devotedly,  and  she 
alternately  domineered  over  them  and  spoiled 
them,  but  served  them  faithfully,  and  would 
have  given  every  drop  of  blood  in  her  veins 
for  them. 




AFTER  supper,  when  the  tray  had  been 
taken  out  by  Aunt  Dilsey,  father  and 
daughters  gathered  about  the  "lightwood" 
fire  in  the  great  old  fireplace  with  its  shining 
brass  andirons,  Dilsey's  pride,  to  have  what 
the  girls  called  "a  meeting." 

Mr.  Beauchamp  was  in  the  city  all  the  week, 
and  it  was  only  on  Saturday  nights  that  he 
came  home.  And  how  happy  were  the  girls 
on  these  nights,  and  the  joyful  Sundays  that 
followed,  when  they  would  all  go  together  to 
the  old  ivy-covered  church  to  worship,  and 
afterwards  father  and  girls  would  be  taken 
possession  of  and  carried  off  by  some  one  of 

the  many  cousins  or  aunts.    Sometimes  it  was 



Madam  Beauchamp,  the  oldest  of  the  line 
and  father's  own  aunt,  who  would  claim  them 
and  take  them  all  home  in  her  great  carriage, 
behind  the  pair  of  beautiful  bays.  How  the 
girls  enjoyed  this  I  Especially  Rowena,  who 
was  a  luxury-loving  little  body.  But  most  of 
all  they  enjoyed  the  Sundays  spent  with  Aunt 
Annie  and  Cousin  Marcia.  %  As  the  girls 
sometimes  wickedly  said,  "Aunt  Annie  was 
good,  but  depressing."  But  Cousin  Marcia 
was  as  sunshiny  as  any  one  could  desire,  and 
the  delight  of  thc'r  hearts.  To  her  they  carried 
all  their  joys  and  sorrows,  and  in  her  always 
found  ready  sympathy — ^mirth  when  they 
were  mirthful,  and  good  advice  and  help 
for  the  girlish  trials, — trials,  many  of  them 
imaginary,  but  some  of  them  very  real  indeed. 
Cousin  Marcia  was  not  so  much  older  than 
the  girls  themselves.  She  enjoyed  their 
society  as  much  as  they  did  hers,  and  knew 


that  the  tribulations  and  pleasures  of  girlhood 
are  as  real  as  any  that  come  later  in  life.  ,She 
was  tall  and  pretty,  with  the  loveliest  color 
and  soft  brown  hair,  the  merriest  eyes  and 
laugh,  and  a  tongue  that  Aunt  Dilsey  said 
"ran  like  a  bell  clapper."  She  always  had 
the  funniest  things  to  tell,  and  her  ready  wit 
was  ever  at  the  girls'  service  and  helped  them 
over  many  a  rough  place. 

More  than  half  of  the  people  of  the  little 
North  Carolina  village  were  Beauchamps,  or 
branches  of  that  family.  They  had  been 
wealthy  landowners  at  one  time,  but  now  they 
were  most  of  them  poor  in  worldly  goods, 
which,  after  all,  is  not  the  worst  kind  of 
poverty,  as  Cousin  Marcia  often  reminded  the 
girls.  It  was  necessary  to  remind  Rowena  of 
this  very,  very  often,  for  poor  Rowena 
hated  the  necessary  makeshifts,  the  made-over 
clothes,  and  the  sacrifices  and  self-denial  that 


were  often  required  of  them,  i  But  most  of  all 
the  hardships  that  made  it  necessary  for  father 
to  be  away  from  them  so  much  and  that 
brought  the  little  trouble  wrinkles  in  his  face. 
And  Rowena  had  loved  her  mother  with  a 
warm,  adoring  affection.  There  had  never 
been  a  day,  during  the  five  years  since  she  had 
left  them,  that  the  girl  had  not  longed  for  her 
counsel  and  advice. 

Rowena  was  the  eldest  and,  she  often  said 
of  herself,  the  worst  of  the  trio.  But  though 
it  must  be  admitted  that  she  had  a  fiery  tem- 
per, a  quick  tongue,  and  a  disposition  to  rebel 
against  restraint,  the  warmest,  most  generous 
little  heart  beat  under  her  faded  frocks,  and 
she  wanted  to  be  good — which  is  half  the 

Mr.  Beauchamp  had  found  it  best  to  leave 
the  little  town  and  spend  his  working  hours 
in  Raleigh.    It  was  hard  for  him  and  for  the 


girls,  ^ut  Beauchampville  was  a  dull  little 
burg,  and  the  home  and  the  girls  must  be  cared 
for,  and  he  could  make  more  money  in  the  city. 
So  every  Monday  morning  he  went  away,  with 
many  injunctions  to  Jubal  and  Dilsey  and  the 
girls.  The  girls  always  walked  with  him  to 
the  station,  and  it  was  a  sober  little  trio  that 
waved  good-by  as  the  train  pulled  out, 
though  they  tried  to  be  brave. 

Aunt  Dilsey  was  a  wonderful  manager. 
Jubal  was  old  and  almost  helpless  with 
rheumatism,  but  he  pottered  about  the  place 
and  worked  a  little  plot  in  the  big  vegetable 
garden,  and  did  his  best  in  the  flower  garden. 
But  the  weeds  were  more  vigorous  than  he,  so 
the  weeds  and  the  flowers  had  their  own  sweet 
will,  and  grew  much  as  they  listed.  Yet  the 
old  garden  was  beautiful,  and  the  flowers 
seemed  to  grow  as  the  birds  sang,  as  generously 
and  as  freely.    The  house  was  almost  hidden 


by  the  mass  of  japonicas  that  lifted  their  pink 
heads  up  to  the  little  iron  balcony  of  the 
second  story,  and  there  were  dahlias  and 
hollyhocks  and  violets  and  roses — oh,  such 
quantities  of  roses,  yellow  and  red  and  pink 
and  white. 

One  of  Rowena's  trials  was  being  managed 
by  the  aunts.  There  were  so  many  of  them, 
and  each  felt  it  to  be  her  duty  to  look  after 
the  girls'  manners  and  morals  while  father 
was  away.  Indeed,  Aunt  Annie  tried  to 
manage  not  only  the  girls  but  Dilsey  and 
Jubal,  and  even  father,  sometimes.  Father 
seemed  very  grateful  for  what  he  called  "Sister 
Annie's  kind  interest,"  but  the  girls  revolted, 
now  and  then,  at  Aunt  Annie's  strict  ideas  of 
what  was  proper  for  a  feminine  Beauchamp, 
and  old  Jubal  grumbled,  while  Dilsey  defied 
her,  declaring  she  "knowed  whut  was  bes'  for 
Mawse  Gawge's  chilluns."     And  in  spite  of 



Mr.  Beauchamp's  remonstrances,  the  old 
negress  insisted  upon  regarding  kindly,  if 
inflexible,  Aunt  Annie  as  an  enemy  to  the 
happiness  of  her  charges,  and  contended  with 
her  every  step  of  the  way.  1 

Aunt  Dilsey  had  been  in  the  family  service 
so  long  that  she  was  always  treated  more  as  a 
friend  than  as  a  servant,  and  her  heartstrings 
were  wrapped  about  the  girls.  So  it  was 
difficult  for  her  to  bow  to  any  authority  out- 
side of  Mawse  Gawge's  little  home  circle. 

It  must  be  confessed  that  Aunt  Annie  was 
not  tactful  in  her  ways,  and  her  ideas  of 
decorum  were  too  rigid  for  healthy  girls.  And 
no  one  could  deny  that  Aunt  Dilsey  herself 
was  a  good  disciplinarian  and,  both  by  precept 
and  example,  taught  the  girls  wisely  and 
faithfully.  ^"^ 

No  day  passed  but  Cousin  Marcia  found  her 
way  to  the  little  household  to  advise  and  help 


and  comfort.  No  one  minded  taking  Cousin 
Marcia's  advice,  it  was  always  so  wise,  and 
was  given  so  sweetly.  Every  morning  for 
several  hours  she  helped  the  girls  with  their 
lessons,  and  twice  a  week  Rowena  went  to  her 
for  a  music  lesson,  for  music  was  Rowena's 
grand  passion,  and  one  of  her  great  grievances 
was  the  tunelessness  of  the  old  piano. 

When  our  story  opens  Rowena  was  in  her 
seventeenth  year,  tall,  almost,  as  Cousin 
Marcia  herself, — all  the  Beauchamps  were 
tall.  Sallie  was  a  quiet  girl  of  thirteen,  with 
gentle,  old-timey  ways,  the  little  mother  of 
the  family,  with  a  love  of  all  womanly  occupa- 
tions, and  Aunt  Annie's  favorite.  Betty  was 
a  round,  happy  little  person  of  ten. 

And  now  that  I  have  introduced  you  to  the 
family,  I  will  go  on  with  my  story.  ' 




THE  Saturday  Night's  Entertainments,  as 
Rowena  called  them,  were  one  of  the 
girls'  great  pleasures,  and  Dilsey  would  have 
to  come  to  the  door  several  times,  to  remon- 
strate, before  the  little  group  broke  up. 

"Now,  father,"  Betty  said,  as  she  snuggled 
close  to  him,  "tell  us  I"  To  Betty,  father  was 
a  bearded  Scheherazade. 

And  so  father  told  them  of  the  funny  old 
Irish  peanut  woman  and  her  son  Pat,  who  kept 
a  peanut  stand  on  the  corner  near  his  place 
of  business,  and  of  the  old  Italian  and  his 
pretty  daughter,  who  kept  a  fruit  shop  just 
next  to  the  peanut  stand,  where  father  some- 
times stopped  to  buy  fruit  for  the  girls  on 



Saturday  nights,  and  to  talk  to  the  green  and 
yellow  parrot. 

Then  there  was  the  pretty  young  girl  who 
lived  j  ust  across  from  his  boarding  house.  The 
girls  knew  her  quite  well,  and  Rowena  thought 
she  was  the  best  of  all.  I  do  not  mean  that 
the  girls  really  knew  her,  but  father  had  told 
them  so  much  about  her  that  they  felt  as  if 
they  did. 

She  lived  in  a  big,  old-fashioned,  red-brick 
house,  almost  covered  with  English  ivy,  and 
the  yard  was  full  of  beautiful  roses.  One 
morning  father  had  stopped  a  moment  at  the 
fence  to  admire  some  of  the  beautiful  Jacque- 
minots, not  knowing  any  one  was  in  the  garden, 
and  Miss  Fairfax  had  suddenly  appeared, 
bobbing  up  like  a  daffy-down-dilly,  father 
said,  from  one  of  the  beds,  and  had  wished 
him  a  blithe  good  morning,  and  had  filled  his 
hands  with  roses.     ^^ 


That  was  more  than  a  year  ago,  and  now 
she  was  a  young  lady,  going  to  real  grown-up 
parties.  She  and  daddy  were  great  friends, 
for  he  had  to  pass  the  house  every  day  and 
she  was  often  in  the  garden  to  wish  him  good 
morning,  and  many  roses  found  their  way 
from  her  garden  to  his  office  desk,  to  make  the 
days  brighter.  One  day  he  had  told  her  about 
his  girls,  and  after  that  she  often  asked  for 
them,  and  sometimes  sent  them  flowers  on  the 
Saturday  nights. 

"I  did  not  like  to  tell  her  it  was  sending 
coals  to  Newcastle,"  father  said,  on  the  first 
night  he  had  brought  them. 

"And  it  is  n't,"  said  Rowena.  "Who  could 
have  too  many  roses?  And  these  are  so 
beautiful  I" 

So  this  friendship  had  sprung  up  between 
these  girls.  One  day,  in  talking  to  her,  father 
found  that  he  had  attended  the  university  with 


her  father,  and  so,  one  day,  Mr.  Fairfax  was  in 
the  garden  when  father  passed,  and  the  two  re- 
newed their  old  acquaintanceship,  and  father 
would  now  and  then  spend  his  evenings  at  the 
Fairfax  home,  with  Dolly's  father  and  mother. 

This  evening  he  had  a  great  deal  to  tell  of 
a  party  Dolly  had  had — a  real  grown-up  party. 
He  even  told  about  the  pretty  white  dress 
with  its  long  train,  and  the  roses  she  carried. 
"Father  tells  every  little  bit,  and  that's  why 
his  stories  are  so  nice,"  Betty  said. 

"And  now  tell  me  your  adventures,*'  father 
said,  when  he  had  told  over  and  over  about 
the  party. 

"We  have  n't  had  any  adventures,  father, 
not  even  a  little  one,"  Rowena  said. 

"What  have  you  been  doing,  then^  What 
have  you  learned'?" 

"I  've  learned  to  make  bread,  father,"  said 


"Why,  that  is  something  worth  while,"  said 
father.  "I  shall  expect  to  have  some  rolls  the 
next  time  I  come." 

"You  shall,  daddy,  but  I  wish  you  would 
tell  Dilsey  to  let  me  go  into  the  kitchen  when- 
ever I  like.  She  says  I  get  under  her  feet, — as 
though  I  were  a  cat  I  And  then  Aunt  Annie 
fusses  with  me,  too,  and  says  I  am  getting  my 
hands  rough.  But  I  do  love  to  cook.  Please 
make  Aunt  Dilsey  let  me,  father!" 

'1  '11  see,  my  little  cookee !"  father  saidc 
patting  the  flaxen  head. 

"And  now  what  has  Betty  learned?' 

"I  'm  in  fractions,"  Betty  said,  with  a  radiant 
face,  "which  is  very  good  indeed  for  a  little 
girl  of  ten.  Cousin  Marcia  says." 

"Let 's  see  if  you  can  give  me  three  and 
three-thirds  of  a  kiss,"  said  father. 

"Why,  that's  four!"  said  Betty,  clapping 
her  hands.    And  she  gave  them  with  good  will. 


"And  you,  Weeny?"  asked  father,  putting 
his  hand  under  her  chin  and  turning  her  face 
so  that  he  could  look  into  the  clear  gray  eyes. 
'^What  have  you  learned?" 

"Oh,  father,  I  don't  believe  I  Ve  learned 
anything.  I  'm  a  stupid  failure,  I  'm  afraid. 
But  I  've  been  trying  to  remember  about  my 
temper.  I  'm  afraid  I  have  n't  succeeded  very 
well,  though." 

"Father,  she  has,"  declared  Sallie.  "She 
has  n't  talked  back  to  Aunt  Annie  once." 

"But  I  've  wanted  to,"  said  Rowena. 

"If  you  can  conquer  the  doing  of  it,  perhaps 
after  a  while  the  wishing  to  will  be  conquered, 

"Father,"  said  Rowena,  suddenly^  "the 
Green  Cottage  is  rented." 

"Are  you  sure,  my  dear?"  Father  had 
straightened  up  in  his  chair  and  looked 


*'Yes,  sir.  It  is  all  opened,  and  I  've  seen 
them — there  is  a  lady  and  a  girl.  Oh,  father, 
such  a  pretty  girl,  and  she  is  lame.  I  have  only 
seen  the  lady  once.  She  was  dressed  in  black. 
The  girl  goes  driving  every  day  in  a  little 
pony  cart.  She  is  so  pretty,  but  she  seems  so 
lame,  and  she  looks  so  frail.  She  drives, 
herself,  but  she  always  has  a  footman  behind.'* 

"And  you  've  been  wishing  you  had  a  pony 
cart  and  a  footman,  eh*?"  said  father,  pinching 
her  cheeks. 

"Yes,  I  would  love  to  have  one,  father,  of 
course.  But  I'd  rather  be  poor,  and  be  able 
to  walk  and  run,  than  to  be  rich  as  she  is,  and 
so  lame.    Oh,  father,  it  is  so  pitiful!" 

"What  are  the  newcomers  named?"  asked 

"I  don't  know — no  one  seems  to  know  who 
they  are  or  where  they  come  from,  Dilsey 


"  'Speak  of  the  angels,  we  hear  the  rustling 
of  their  wings,' ''  quoted  father,  as  Dilsey 
poked  her  head  in  the  door. 

"La,  Mawse  Gawge!  It  done  mos'  eleben 
o'clock,  an'  it 's  time  dem  chilluns  wuz  in 

And  so  the  good  nights  were  said  and  the 
girls  trooped  oif  to  bed,  leaving  father  to 
dream, — awake  before  the  fire, — for  a  while. 
Only  Rowena  lingered  a  little,  after  the  others, 
to  ask: 

"Father,  who  was  Madeline  Beauchamp*?" 

Father  did  not  answer  at  once.  Then  he 
said:  "Why  do  you  ask,  little  daughter T' 

"Because — just  because.  Who  was  she, 
father  r' 

"I  can't  tell  you,  now,  dear.  Some  other 
time,  maybe.  And,  Rowena,  how  many  times 
must  I  tell  you  not  to  listen  to  servants' 
stories'?      Kiss   me    good    night,    and    don't 


puzzle  your  head  over  what  you  can't  under- 
stand." And  then,  as  he  looked  at  the  wistful 
face.    "I  '11  tell  you,  some  day,  daughter." 

And  so  Rowena  kissed  him  good  night,  and 
followed  the  other  girls  to  bed. 



IT  was  the  next  evening  that  father,  when 
he  had  kissed  Betty  and  Sallie  good  night, 
drew  Rowena  to  him,  as  he  dismissed  the  other 
girls  with  his  bright,  cheery  nod.  Father  was 
always  cheerful,  no  matter  how  deep  the  little 
worry  wrinkles  furrowed  his  brow. 

"I  want  to  speak  with  you,  little  daughter," 
he  said,  as  he  kissed  her. 

"I  have  been  thinking  about  what  you  told 
me  last  night,  and  I  have  decided  to  tell  you 
the  story  of  poor  Madeline  Beauchamp.  Who 
told  you  anything,  Rowena,  of  the  story*?" 

"I  heard  Dilsey  and  Jubal  talking^  and 
Jubal  said  that  he  heard  Madam  Beauchamp's 
Dan  say  that  the  Green  Cottage  had  been 



rented  to  foreigners,  and  that  some  people  said 
the  lady  was  Madam  Beauchamp's  grand- 
daughter. And  then  they  began  to  talk  about 
*Miss  Madeline/  But,  father,  it  is  n't  the  first 
time  I  have  heard  them  speak  of  her,"  said 
the  girl,  honestly. 

"My  dear,"  her  father  said,  laying  his  hand 
gently  on  the  rumpled  brown  head,  "there  is 
no  reason  why  you  should  not  know  the 
story,  now  that  you  are  old  enough  to  under- 
stand. Only,  father  would  rather  tell  you 
himself.  You  must  not  listen  to  servants' 
tales.  Jubal  and  Dilsey  do  not  understand, 
and  they  get  things  wrong. 

"Madeline  Beauchamp  was  Madam  Beau- 
champ's  only  daughter.  She  was  a  beautiful, 
high-spirited  girl,  restive  of  all  restraint— 
you  remind  me  of  her  very  much  sometimes, 

"Me!    Oh,  father!" 


Rowena's  romantic  young  soul  was  iired  at 
the  thought. 

''She  was  self-willed,  just  as  you  are,  and  it 
brought  her  great  sorrow  in  the  end,  though  I 
could  never  blame  her.  She  was  seventeen 
when  the  Civil  War  opened,  and  at  its  close 
she  ran  away  from  home  with  an  army  officer — 
a  Federal  captain,  who  was  wounded  in  a 
skirmish  near  her  home  and  was  nursed  by  the 
servants,  old  Mammy  Lucia  and  the  maids, 
to  convalescence.  Madam  Beauchamp  gave 
him  of  her  hospitality  in  so  far  as  the  best 
of  care  was  concerned,  for  old  Mammy  Lucia 
was  a  capital  nurse,  but  she  never  entered  the 
room  where  he  lay  ill,  and  forbade  her 
daughter  to  do  so.  She  sent  formally  to 
inquire  of  him  each  day,  and  gave  freely  of 
her  little  store  of  worldly  goods,  that  he  might 
have  everything  necessary  during  his  illness, 
denying  herself  many  necessities  that  she  might 


do  this.  But  she  would  not  look  upon  his 

"She  was  hard,  perhaps,  Rowena,  but  she 
had  just  lost  her  two  sons  on  the  battlefield, 
and  her  husband  was  then  lying  at  death's 
door  in  a  hospital.  But  Madeline's  warm 
young  heart  went  out  to  the  helpless  man  lying 
there  day  after  day,  with  only  the  kind  offices 
of  the  servants  to  depend  on,  and  now  and 
then  she  would  slip  out,  when  she  would  see 
the  doctor  leaving  his  room,  to  ask  about  him. 
And  often  she  would  make  dainty  dishes  for 
him,  soups  and  jellies,  with  her  own  hands. 

"She  was  young  and  ardent  and  pitiful,  and 
one  day  old  Lucia  came  to  them,  Madeline  and 
her  mother,  where  they  sat  in  the  morning 
room,  sewing  for  the  soldiers,  and  told  them 
that  she  believed  he  was  dying. 

"  'Oh,  Madam,  come  to  him !'  she  begged, 
'for  I  am  afraid  it  is  the  end.'    But  the  older 


woman  rose  and  rang  the  bell,  and  sent  Old 
Dan,  a  young  lad  then,  on  a  horse  for  the 
doctor,  and  sat  down  again  to  her  sewing.  The 
girl  stood  up  then,  slim  and  tall  and  white 

"  'Are  n't  you  going  to  him — a  dying  man 
— yourself?'  Madam  looked  at  her  proudly 
and  shook  her  head,  and  continued  at  her  work. 
Then  the  girl  left  the  room  without  a  word, 
and  went  with  Mammy  Lucia  down  the  hall 
and  up  the  wide  stairway,  until  they  came  to 
his  room,  and  she  went  in  and  laid  her  cool 
young  hand  on  his  hot  brow,  and  she  did  not 
leave  him  again,  night  or  day,  until  the  doctors 
pronounced  him  out  of  danger. 

"Those  were  sad  days,  my  darling,  all  over 
the  country,  and  Madam's  heart  was  near  to 
breaking,  or  she  could  not  have  been  so  hard. 
She  never  spoke  to  Madeline  again,  and  when 
he  came  back  for  her  after  the  war,  and  she 


went  away  with  him,  her  mother  disinherited 
her.  They  went  abroad,  and  she  wrote  to  her 
mother  many  times,  but  Madam  never  forgave 
her.  Her  own  daughter,  also  Madeline, 
married  an  artist — a  famous  Frenchman,  a 
very  distinguished  man — and  they  have  one 
child,  a  little  lame  girl,  named  also  Madeline, 
and,  so  I  am  told,  the  image  of  the  pretty 
Madeline  of  the  war-time  romance. 

"I  heard  to-day  that  it  is  they  who  have 
rented  the  Green  Cottage  for  the  summer." 

"Oh,  father,  is  n't  it  romantici" 

Rowena's  eyes  were  glowing. 

"It  is  very  sad,  my  dear;  I  am  glad  there  are 
no  more  wars,  or  rumors  of  wars,  to  disturb  the 
quiet  of  our  country." 

And  then  he  kissed  her  and  sent  her  away  to 
bed.    But  not  to  sleep. 

Rowena  lay  for  hours  thinking  of  that  other 
girl,  Madeline,  and  her  sorrow.     She  knew 


that  Madam  Beauchamp's  husband,  General 
Beauchamp,  had  died  in  the  hospital.  She  had 
seen  pictures  of  him  when  she  had  gone  to 
the  great  house  with  father  to  call  upon 
Madam — a  little  old  lady,  still  straight  and 
vigorous  despite  her  eighty  years.  The  great 
general  looked  very  kindly  in  his  dashing 
uniform,  seated  upon  his  white  charger,  and 
Rowena  felt  sure  that  his  heart  had  been  as 
gentle  as  his  face.  The  only  thing  that  looked 
warlike  about  him  was  his  uniform  and  his 
attitude.  She  wished  that  he  had  lived  to  for- 
give his  daughter,  and  she  sobbed  a  little,  all 
alone  there  in  the  dark,  at  the  thought  of  the 
sad  young  wife,  waiting  year  after  year  for  her 
mother's  forgiveness.  For  Rowena  felt  sure 
that  she  had  waited  and  longed  and  prayed 
for  it. 

And  so  it  was  that  a  most  romantic  and  very 
pure  flame  of  interest  sprang  up  in  the  girl's 


heart  for  the  little  lame  cousin — the  grand- 
daughter of  pretty  Madeline. 

Rowena  was  given  somewhat  to  romantic 
fancies.  Perhaps  her  own  lonely  childhood 
had  much  to  do  with  this.  Even  the  most 
devoted  of  Aunt  Dilseys  and  numberless  kind- 
meaning  aunts  and  cousins  cannot  take  the 
place  of  one's  own  mother,  and  often  Rowena 
longed  for  the  gentle  voice  and  tender  touch. 

Maybe  it  would  not  have  been  quite  so  hard 
if  they  had  not  been  poor ;  for  they  were  very 
poor  indeed.  Father's  father,  too,  had  fallen 
on  the  battlefield,  and  all  his  fortune  had  been 
swept  away.  There  were  four  sisters  and  a 
mother  to  care  for,  and  father,  who  was 
wonderfully  clever  and  brave,  had  had  a  hard 
time  making  both  ends  meet.  At  last  he  had 
sold  the  old  plantation,  after  his  mother's 
death,  and,  his  sisters  having  married,  they 
had  all  moved  to  the  village,  and  later  father 


had  gone  to  Raleigh.  He  was  burdened  by 
many  debts,  brought  about  through  illness  and 
the  failure  of  crops  on  the  plantation,  and 
Rowena  so  longed,  with  her  ardent,  warm 
young  heart,  to  help  him. 



SALLIE  was  sitting  on  the  back  steps, 
paring  apples,  and  Betty  was  curled  up  in 
the  crook  of  an  old  maple  tree,  munching  one 
of  the  half-green  apples  pilfered  from  the 
dish,  and  reading  Infelice.  Rowena  stepped 
out  through  the  low  French  window  upon  the 
piazza,  swinging  her  best  hat  in  her  hand.  It 
was  n't  a  very  handsome  best ;  she  had  worn  it 
two  summers.  Dilsey  had  cleaned  it  twice 
with  sulphur  and  lemon,  and  Cousin  Marcia 
had  trimmed  it  over  for  her,  with  her  deft 

Rowena  had  on  a  fresh  white  dress,  and  her 
hair,  usually  somewhat  towsled,  was  carefully 
brushed  and  braided. 


'Rowena  stepped  out 

.  upon  the  piazza,  swinging  her  best  hat " 

Page  44 


Sallie  looked  up  from  her  apples  in  surprise 
and  Betty  threw  a  core  with  precision,  hitting 
Rowena  squarely  on  her  somewhat  tip-tilted 
nose.  To  Betty's  surprise  she  did  not  storm  at 
all.  Sallie  and  Betty  always  termed  Rowena's 
small  rages  "storms."  She  picked  up  the  core 
and  threw  it  back  again,  but  it  went  wide  of 
its  mark. 

"Want  one'?"  called  Betty,  good-naturedly, 
and  tossed  her  an  apple. 

Rowena  went  out  of  the  garden  and  down 
the  road,  munching  the  apple,  and  made  no 
reply  to  the  girls  when  they  called  after  her  to 
know  where  she  was  going. 

"She  's  wearing  her  best  white  muslin,"  said 
Sallie,  with  some  wonder.  "She  washed  it 
herself  and  started  to  iron  it,  but  Aunt  Dilsey 
would  n't  let  her,  and  ironed  it  herself.  I 
wonder  where  she  is  going." 

"She  had  her  best  hat,"  said  Betty,  "the  one 


Cousin  Marcia  trimmed.  And  did  you  notice 
how  she  had  her  hair  fixed?  Rowena  never 
cares  whether  her  hair  is  tidy  or  not,  after  she 
once  fixes  it  in  the  morning." 

"She  has  lovely  hair,"  said  Sallie.  "I  wish 
mine  was  brown  and  crinkley  like  hers."  And 
she  threw  her  own  straight  braids  back,  with 
some  disdain. 

"Well,  her  temper  is  crinkley,  too,  like  her 
hair,"  saio  Betty.    "And  I  like  yours  best." 

"What?  My  temper,  or  my  hair?' 


"Well,  I  don't  know;  Rowena  is  a  dear  when 
she  wants  to  be,  if  she  is  quick." 

"Of  cou  'se  she  is  a  dear.  Who  said  she 
was  n't?  Nobody  minds  Weeny's  tempers. 
Nobody  but  Aunt  Annie,  and  she  minds  every- 
thing.   I  do  wonder  where  she  is  going?" 

Rowena  went  on  slowly  down  the  road. 


She  did  not  know  very  surely  herself  where  she 
was  going.  Her  vague  plans  were  only  half 
formed.  She  had  risen  very  early  that  morn- 
ing, and  had  washed  the  white  dress  very 
carefully  and  Dilsey  had  ironed  it  for  her. 

Her  father's  story  had  made  a  great  im- 
pression on  the  young  mind  and  heart,  and  her 
thoughts  were  full  of  poor  young  Madeline 
as  she  turned  her  footsteps  in  the  direction  of 
the  Green  Cottage.  She  had  seen  the  black- 
garbed  mother  and  the  lame  girl  driving  the 
day  before  down  this  very  road,  a  little 
crooked  road,  right  in  the  heart  of  the  pines, 
and  she  hoped  that  maybe  she  might  chance  to 
meet  them  again — the  daughter  of  Madeline 
and  Madeline's  little  granddaughter. 

Madeline's  granddaughter!  How  strange 
it  seemed  to  think  of  the  bright,  beautiful  girl 
as  an  old  woman  with  a  grandchild — a  third 
little  Madeline! 


She  did  not  meet  any  one,  and  when  she 
passed  the  Green  Cottage  there  was  no  one  in 
the  yard  and  no  pony  cart  drawn  up  before  the 
gate,  as  she  had  hoped  there  might  be.  But 
the  window  was  open,  and  she  could  see  the 
flutter  of  white  curtains  in  the  breeze,  and 
the  little  place  looked  bright  and  homelike. 

She  walked  into  the  country  and  found  a 
few  late  "mountain  roses"  under  the  thick  wire 
grass.  It  was  late  when  she  passed  the  Green 
Cottage  again,  and  she  was  hurrying,  for  she 
knew  that  Dilsey  would  scold  if  she  was  late 
to  dinner.  A  lady  stood  at  the  gate,  looking 
anxiously  down  the  road,  and  when  Rowena 
lifted  her  sweet,  ardent  young  face  she 
answered  the  girl's  friendly  look  with  a  quiet 

"My  dear!"  she  called,  after  Rowena  had 
passed,  and  the  girl  paused  and  came  back, 


"Are  you  from  the  village*?  Could  you  tell 
me  of  any  cottage  or  farmhouse  about  here 
where  I  could  get  fresh,  new-laid  eggs  each 
day?  My  servants  are  foreign,  and  I  do  not 
know  the  country,  and  it  is  necessary  that  my 
little  girl  have  new-laid  eggs  and  milk  above 

Rowena  eagerly  gave  her  the  names  and 
addresses  of  those  who  might  serve  her.  As 
she  turned  away  she  saw  the  woman's  face 
clear,  and  a  relieved  exclamation  broke  from 
her  as  the  pony  cart  turned  a  bend  of  the  road 
and  the  lame  girl  drove  up  to  the  gate,  with 
the  footman  behind. 

She  laid  her  hand  on  Rowena's  shoulder. 

"I  want  you  to  meet  my  little  girl,"  she  said. 
And  then,  with  a  smile,  "You  are  a  Beau- 
champ,  are  you  not?" 

Rowena  smiled  and  nodded,  speechless  with 


"I  knew.  There  is  a  striking  strain  of 
resemblance  in  the  family.  What  is  your 
name,  my  dear?  Madeline,  this  is  your  distant 
cousin,  Rowena.  You  must  come  to  see  my 
little  girl  sometimes,  if  you  will,  and  your 
father  consents.  You  must  ask  him,"  she 
added,  gravely. 

With  a  winning  smile  the  lame  girl  had 
given  her  slender  white  hand  to  Rowena,  and 
then  the  footman  handed  her  her  crutches  and 
helped  her  from  the  cart. 

"Good-by,  my  dear." 

The  older  woman  had  her  arm  about  the  lame 
girl.  "You  are  tired,  darling,"  she  said.  And 
Rowena  saw  them  go  up  the  pathway,  the  girl 
walking  with  the  crutch  and  leaning  on  her 
mother's  arm. 

But  at  the  door  of  the  Green  Cottage  they 
turned  to  wave  farewell  to  her. 



ROWENA  walked  quickly  down  the  road 
toward  home.  Her  mind  was  in  a 
delightful  tumult,  and  she  almost  ran,  when 
she  neared  the  house,  to  tell  Sallie  and  Betty  of 
the  afternoon's  adventures.  Every  unusual 
incident  was  an  adventure  in  Rowena's  dull 
life :  dull  it  seemed  to  her,  for  she  had  not  yet 
learned  that  riches  and  happiness  do  not 
always  go  hand  in  hand,  and  that  the  simplest 
duties  of  life  often  bring  the  greatest  joy,  if 
one  will  look  for  the  bright  spots  along  the 
way.  When  she  burst  in  upon  them  Dilsey 
was  already  grumbling  at  her  absence.  Sallie 
and  Betty  were  setting  the  table,  and  looked 
up  with  delighted  interest  when  she  told  them 



of  her  meeting  with  the  lame  girl  and  her 

*'I  wonder  if  father  will  let  you  go*?"  asked 
Sallie,  and  Rowena's  face  fell,  for  the  moment, 
but  brightened  again  at  once. 

"I  know  daddy  will  let  me  go.  Why 
shouldn't  he?"  And  then,  with  a  sweet, 
generous  impulse,  as  she  saw  the  wistfulness 
of  the  two  faces  turned  interestedly  toward 
her:  "And  she  can  come  here.  I  hope  her 
mother  will  let  her;  then  we  can  all  be  friends. 
She  is  our  cousin,  and  I  believe  father  will  say 

And  father  did  say  yes,  even  more  readily 
than  the  girls  had  anticipated,  in  spite  of  Aunt 
Annie's  demurs. 

"But,  my  dear  Annie,  why  shouldn't  the 
children  be  friends?"  asked  father. 

"In  the  first  place,"  said  Aunt  Annie,  "they 
may  be  impostors." 


Father  laughed. 

"The  little  lame  girl  does  not  look  very 
much  like  an  impostor,"  he  said.  "And  she  has 
Madeline  Beauchamp's  mouth  and  eyes,  if  one 
may  judge  from  old  portraits." 

"No  one  has  called  on  her,"  said  Aunt  Annie, 
with  some  stiffness. 

"That 's  a  pity,"  said  father.  "I  noticed  in 
church  this  morning  that  she  looked  lonely  and 

"But  she  is  very  pretentious,"  said  Aunt 
Annie,  "with  her  footman  and  maids  and 

"She  does  not  look  pretentious  in  the  least," 
said  father. 

And  then  he  closed  the  conversation  by  lay- 
ing his  hand  on  Rowena's  brown  head  and 
saying : 

"You  may  go  to  see  her  as  often  as  you  like, 
my  dear,  as  long  as  they  make  you  welcome 


and  it  does  not  interfere  with  the  duties  that 
Cousin  Marcia  and  Dilsey  prescribe  for  you, 
and  as  Aunt  Annie  is  going  now,  you  and  I 
may  as  well  walk  up  the  road  and  pay  our 
first  visit." 

Rowena  flew  away  to  smooth  her  unruly 
locks  and  get  her  hat,  and  she  and  her  father 
walked  with  Aunt  Annie  to  her  gate,  and  then 
on  up  the  road  to  the  Green  Cottage. 

The  maid,  a  pretty,  dark-eyed  French  girl 
in  a  black  gown  and  ruffled  white  apron, 
opened  the  door  to  them.  Madame  was 
out,  she  said,  with  what  Rowena  thought  a 
charming  accent,  but  would  they  not  come 
in  and  rest  for  a  while  ^  They  might  be 
back,  madame  and  mademoiselle,  at  any 

But  father  said  no,  and  gave  her  his  card, 
with  Rowena's  name  written  under  his,  which 
made  her  feel  very  grown  up,  indeed. 


And  then  he  and  Rowena  had  walked  on  out 
into  the  country  to  gather  dogwood  flowers  for 
the  tea  table.  But  not  before  Rowena  had 
caught  a  glimpse  of  the  dainty  sitting  room, 
with  its  low  couch  and  the  tea  table  drawn 
near,  set  out  with  a  pretty  service  of  blue  and 
white,  and,  at  the  end  of  the  room,  a  grand 
piano  thrown  open,  with  music  on  the  rest,  as 
though  some  one  had  left  it  only  a  short  time 

Rowena  kissed  her  father  very  grate- 
fully that  night,  when  she  went  to  bed,  and 
she  lay  awake  for  a  long  time,  thinking  of  lame 
Madeline  and  the  dainty  room  and,  most  of 
all,  the  piano. 

Music  was  Rowena's  great  passion.  The 
old,  tuneless  Knabe  was  to  her  a  positive 
torture,  and  she  practiced  always  at  her  Cousin 
Marcia's,  for  her  harmony-loving  soul  could 
not  bear  the  discord  of  the  old  instrument,  and 


during  Sallie's  practice  hours  she  usually  fled 
from  the  house  and  hid  herself  in  Betty's  nook 
up  in  the  old  maple  tree. 

On  Monday  Cousin  Marcia  came  for  the 
girls  and  carried  them  home  with  her  for  a 
sewing  bee,  for  the  wardrobes  were  much  in 
need  of  repair,  now  that  the  summer  days  were 
at  hand. 

It  was  not  until  Tuesday  that  Rowena 
heard  again  of  Madeline.  She  was  out  in 
the  back  yard,  having  just  washed  her  hair, 
and  was  walking  up  and  down  the  path, 
frowning  and  thinking  of  ways  and  means  for 
the  summer  toilettes,  when  Betty  came  tearing 
like  mad  around  the  house. 

"It 's  a  man,  Rowena,"  she  said,  breathlessly, 
"and  he  can't  talk  anything  but  gibberish,  just 
like  a  monkey.    Do  come  and  see." 

Rowena,  with  hair  flying,  sped  through  the 
hall  to  the  front  door,  to  be  met  by  the  old 


French  butler  from  the  Green  Cottage,  who 
handed  her  a  note — a  note  with  a  coat-of-arms 
on  the  creamy  note  paper,  addressed  to 


The  Cedars 

Oh,  the  delight  of  that  moment  I  Even  the 
undignified  figure  she  was  conscious  of  pre- 
senting could  not  take  from  her  joy. 

The  old  butler  said  there  was  an  answer, 
and  she  tore  up  the  stairs  with  Betty 
pounding  behind  her,  to  read  and  answer  it. 
It  was  from  Mrs.  Lagare,  and  was  an  invitation 
to  tea  that  evening  at  six,  at  the  Green  Cot- 
tage, with  polite  words  of  regret  at  having 
missed  her  father  and  herself  on  Sunday 

Betty  watched  enviously  as  Rowena  rum- 
maged through  bureau  drawers  and  portfolio 
for  writing  materials,  and  when  the  note  was 


at  last  answered,  in  a  trembling,  girlish  scrawl, 
and,  to  Rowena's  humiliation,  on  a  half  sheet 
of  paper,  the  only  possible  thing  in  the 
portfolio,  Betty  sped  away  to  find  Sallie  and 
impart  the  news. 

Sallie  was  dismissed  post-haste  to  Cousin 
Marcia,  and  together  the  three,  Marcia,  Sal- 
lie, and  Betty,  with  Aunt  Dilsey  in  the 
doorway  offering  suggestions,  got  Rowena 
ready  for  the  evening,  for  to  the  little  girls 
it  was  a  great  event.  The  best  white  frock 
seemed  out  of  the  question,  as  it  had  been 
worn  twice  on  Sunday,  but  under  Dilsey's 
skillful  fingers — Dilsey  could  do  wonderful 
things  with  raw  starch  and  a  hot  iron — it 
became  a  thing  of  beauty.  She  even  fluted  the 
skimpy  ruffles,  until  the  little  darned  frock 
looked  very  crisp  and  dainty,  and  Cousin 
Marcia  loaned  Rowena  an  old  cameo  pin  and 
her  own  lace  collar. 


So  it  was  a  very  fresh,  flushed  Rowena  who 
presented  herself  at  last  at  the  Green  Cottage, 
only  a  few  minutes  late,  despite  all  the 



MRS.  LAGARE  herself  met  Rowena  at 
the  door,  and  she  found  Madeline  on 
the  couch,  with  the  tea  table  drawn  near,  by  an 
open  window,  where  a  great  bush  of  syringa 
nodded  to  them  from  the  garden.  There  were 
bowls  of  roses  about  the  room,  which  was  very 
dainty  and  homelike.  But  the  furnishings 
were  very  simple,  and  Madeline's  white  frock 
was  no  finer  than  the  one  worn  by  Rowena 
herself.  Mrs.  Lagare  wore  black,  with  white 
bands  at  her  neck  and  wrists.  She  was 
not  at  all  like  any  of  the  Beauchamps  that 
Rowena  had  ever  seen,  and  the  girl  decided 
that  she  must  resemble  her  father,  the  captain 

in  the  Federal  army. 



Madeline  was  pale  and  languid;  she  re- 
minded Rowena  of  a  sweet,  white  lily,  but  her 
laugh  was  as  ready  as  Rowena's  own,  and  she 
was  eager  to  be  friends  with  this  new-found 
cousin.  They  had  traveled  a  great  deal  in 
search  of  health  for  the  frail  girl,  for,  while 
Rowena  learned  that  it  was  only  in  the  last 
few  years  the  lameness  had  been  pronounced, 
Madeline  had  always  been  a  delicate  child. 
She  spoke  with  a  slight  accent,  which  Rowena 
found  amusing,  and  she  was  as  eager  about  the 
new  life  in  America  as  Rowena  was  about  her 
stories  of  France  and  Italy  and  Switzerland. 
They  had  spent  some  months  in  New  York 
before  they  had  come  to  Beauchampville,  and 
the  two  girls  chattered  like  magpies  about  the 
big  city,  for  the  great  event  in  Rowena's  life 
had  been  ten  days  when  Cousin  Marcia  had 
taken  her  to  New  York  City. 

There  were  lovely  little  brown  cakes  for  tea. 


and  cream,  and  delicious  fig  preserves  that  the 
old  French  cook  had  put  up  the  summer  before 
in  Italy,  and  there  were  green  peppers  stuffed 
with  chicken, — a  new  dish  that  Rowena  liked 
very  much  indeed, — and  then  something  very 
delicious  that  tasted  like  cream  and  cake  and 
moonshine,  Rowena  said  afterward,  a  sort  of 
poetized  Charlotte  russe. 

By  the  time  tea  was  over,  the  girls  had 
reached  a  common  ground  of  interest,  for  they 
were  both  musical,  and  when  old  Babette 
had  taken  away  the  tea  things  Mrs.  Lagare 
opened  the  grand  piano  and  asked  Rowena 
to  play. 

How  glad  Rowena  was  then  of  the  faithful 
hours  of  practice  under  Cousin  Marcia.  She 
had  never  had  any  other  instruction  and,  as 
Cousin  Marcia  often  said,  she  was  outdis- 
tancing her  teacher,  for  she  was  a  born 
musician.     So  when  she  turned  at  last  and 


faced  them,  after  playing  several  pieces,  her 
face  flushed  with  delight  when  she  saw  the 
pleasure  she  had  given. 

"Why,  my  dear,  you  play  wonderfully,'* 
said  Mrs.  Lagare.  ''Our  little  Madeline  here 
cannot  hope  to  compete  with  you.  Who  has 
taught  you^" 

When  Rowena  confessed  that  the  only  in- 
struction had  been  very  desultory,  under  kind 
but  busy  Cousin  Marcia,  with  no  instrument  at 
home  to  practice  on  but  the  cracked  Knabe, 
Mrs.  Lagare  seemed  much  astonished. 

"Your  touch  is  wonderful,"  she  said,  "and 
your  technic  is  good.  You  ought  to  have 
masters.  I  hope  you  will  come  very  often  and 
play  for  us.  When  Madeline  is  stronger  you 
might  try  some  duets." 

Rowena  went  home  escorted  by  the  maid 
with  a  lantern,  treading  on  air.  Sallie  and 
Betty  were  both  asleep,  for  it  was  nearly  ten, 


but  Dilsey  was  waiting,  nodding  on  the  piazza, 
to  help  her  child  to  bed,  and  to  scold,  on 
general  principles,  at  the  unusual  bedtime 
hour.  But  Dilsey's  scolding  could  not  dampen 
Rowena's  ardor,  and  she  laid  her  head  on  her 
pillow,  after  saying  her  prayers  and  asking 
God  to  cure  Madeline,  with  happy  visions  of 
future  days  of  sunshine  and  music. 

Several  days  passed  before  Rowena  heard 
again  from  the  Green  Cottage.  The  time  was 
passed  in  the  round  of  home  duties  that 
occupied  a  great  part  of  the  girl's  time,  for 
Dilsey  would  not  permit  her  children  to  be 
idle,  and  Cousin  Marcia  watched  over  them 
like  a  kind  dove  and  Aunt  Annie  like  a  hen 
mother.  Woe  be!  if  Aunt  Annie  came  upon 
them  unexpectedly  and  found  the  sitting  room 
undusted  or  the  bedrooms  untidy. 

Betty  was  a  great  bookworm,  but  she  always 
did  her  plodding  part  faithfully;  Sallie  was 

"On  Hallowe'en  all  the  cousins  were  invited  to  a  party  at  Valambrosa" 

Page  92 


naturally  industrious ;  but  poor  Rowena  found 
the  homely  tasks  very  irksome,  though  she  tried 
hard  not  to  shirk,  and  did  her  part  as  best  she 
could,  ''with  her  head  in  the  clouds,"  as  Aunt 
Annie  said. 

When  Sallie  had  once  repeated  this  crit- 
icism of  Rowena  to  father  he  had  drawn  the 
girl  to  him  and  kissed  her,  understandingly. 
That  was  the  beautiful  thing  about  father :  he 
always  understood. 

"I  hope  my  little  girl  will  always  keep  her 
head  in  the  clouds,"  he  said.  "There  is  nothing 
wrong  in  dreaming,  if  one's  dreams  are  true 
and  noble.  And  I  believe  my  little  girl's 
dreams  are  always  that.  Only,  don't  forget 
and  tread  on  the  flowers  along  the  way,  and 
stumble  over  the  duties  that  are  waiting  to  be 

And  Rowena  did  try  to  remember,  and 
Cousin  Marcia  comforted  her  by  praising  her. 


now  and  then,  for  her  earnest  efforts  to  do  the 
humdrum  tasks  of  mending  and  darning  and 
dusting  and  gardening  without  grumbling. 



NEARLY  a  week  passed  before  Rowena 
heard  from  the  Green  Cottage  again, 
and  then  one  morning,  just  after  breakfast,  the 
old  butler  came  with  a  note  for  her  from  Mrs. 
Lagare,  and  its  contents  caused  Rowena's  head 
to  spin  with  joy.  For  Mrs.  Lagare  wrote  to 
ask  her  to  assist  Madeline  with  her  music. 

"For  the  last  year,"  she  said,  "she  has 
practiced  very  little,  but  now  that  she  is 
getting  stronger  I  wish  her  to  resume  her  music. 

"Will  you  come  to  us  for  two  hours  every 

day,  and  practice  with  her,  and  talk  with  her 

a  little  ?    She  needs  young  companionship,  and 

I  shall  consider  it  a  great  favor.    Do  not  reply 

at  once.    Think  it  over;  you  may  not  wish  to 



give  us  so  much  of  your  time.  Ask  your 
father,  and  if  he  consents  I  shall  look  for  you 
again  on  Monday. 

"The  question  of  compensation  we  will  talk 
over  when  you  come." 

"What  does  she  mean,  father*?"  Rowena 
asked,  when  she  read  him  the  note. 

"She  wishes  to  pay  you,  my  dear,  for  your 


'Services  I  Pay  me !  Oh,  father !  it  will  be 
a  pure  joy  to  go  there  and  talk  to  Madeline 
and  play  on  that  beloved  piano.  I  should  not 
think  of  accepting  any  pay." 

"But  why  not,  my  darling*?  Mrs.  Lagare 
may  not  wish  to  place  herself  under  obligation 
to  you.  Three  hours  out  of  each  day  will 
deserve  some  compensation." 

"Two  hours,  the  note  says,  father." 

"Yes,  but  it  will  take  some  time  to  walk  to 
the  Green  Cottage  and  back — quite  a  half  hour 


each  way,  by  the  big  road.  I  should  not  refuse 
her  offer.  Father  is  not  able  to  give  his  little 
daughter  much  spending  money,  now,  until  the 
debts  are  paid,  and  going  out  each  day  you 
will  need  some  frocks.  Eh,  Marcia*?"  For 
Cousin  Marcia  was  present  at  the  family 

"Yes,  Rowena  needs  many  things,  and  a 
small  sum  will  not  come  amiss.  Take  the 
money,  child,  and  be  thankful  that  the  good 
God  has  given  you  your  talent." 

And  so  when  Rowena  went  timidly  on  Mon- 
day to  answer  the  note  in  person,  it  was  to 
consent  with  bright  shy  eyes  of  gratitude. 

Mrs.  Lagare  and  Madeline  were  almost  as 
pleased  as  she  was,  and  when  Mrs.  Lagare 
asked  her  if  she  would  consider  twenty  dollars 
a  month  compensation  enough,  she  was  speech- 
less with  pleased  astonishment. 

"It  will   take   up   practically   your   whole 


morning,  and  your  companionship,  I  am  sure, 
will  do  Madeline  a  world  of  good." 

So  Rowena  walked  home  with  a  happy,  beat- 
ing heart,  after  spending  an  hour  practicing 
and  afterwards  lunching  with  Madeline. 
What  visions  of  pretty  things  danced  in  her 
head !  Betty  should  have  the  white  frock  she 
needed,  and  Sallie  a  new  hat,  for  the  old  brown 
one  was  awfully  shabby.  She  decided  she 
would  just  stop  at  the  milliner's  to  look  at 
the  hats  on  display — the  new  spring  styles, 
just  in. 

Miss  Stires,  the  village  milliner,  was  greatly 
surprised  when  a  shadow  fell  across  her  work 
and,  looking  up,  she  met  Rowena's  happy  face, 
and  the  request  to  look  at  the  new  hats, 
just  advertised  in  the  morning  paper  as 
having  arrived  from  New  York. 

"Hats!  What  kind?'  asked  Miss  Stires, 
jabbing  her  needle  into  her  strawberry  emery 


and  looking  somewhat  severely  at  Rowena. 
"Something  for  yourself?" 

"Yes,  and  for  Sallie  and  Betty,"  said 
Rowena,  thinking  out  loud. 

"Good  land,  child,"  said  Miss  Stires,  as  she 
led  her  into  the  room  where  the  hats  were 
on  display,  "you  goin'  to  get  'em  by  the 

"No  'm,"  said  Rowena,  shortly,  and  then 
forgot  her  displeasure  at  the  sight  of  a  clover- 
trimmed  leghorn. 

"Your  pa  must  be  doin'  right  well  now,"  said 
Miss  Stires,  as  she  reached  for  a  brown  hat, 
trimmed  with  bunches  of  oats:  "Now  this  is 
real  nice  an'  wearin'." 

"So  are  you,"  said  Rowena.  She  did  not 
mean  to  say  it,  but  somehow  the  words  slipped 
out  before  she  knew. 

Miss  Stires  put  her  hands  on  her  bony  hips 
and  looked  at  her  severely. 


"Rowena  Beauchamp,  who  be  you  talkin* 
to?    How  dare  you  sass  me*?" 

She  looked  so  funny,  with  her  httle  head 
cocked  on  one  side  like  an  offended  sparrow, 
that  Rowena  laughed,  and  then,  realizing  that 
rudeness  was  not  an  excuse  for  rudeness,  said 
contritely : 

"Excuse  me,  Miss  Stires.  Truly,  I  did  n't 
mean  it.  Let  me  see  that  white  one  with  the 

"That 's  four  dollars,"  said  Miss  Stires,  not 
troubling  to  take  it  down,  "and  I  know 
your  pa  ain  't  goin'  to  give  that  for  a  hat, 
buyin'  'em  three  at  a  time." 

Rowena  went  out,  angry  and  amused.  She 
did  not  go  home  at  once,  but  cut  across  lots 
and  ran  in  to  see  Cousin  Marcia.  Aunt  Annie 
was  on  the  piazza,  so  she  did  not  open  her 
heart  until  on  the  way  home,  when  Cousin 
Marcia  walked  a  part  of  the  way  with  her. 


"Think  of  it,  Cousin  Marcia,  twenty  dollars 
all  my  own  I"  Her  tone  announced  untold 

When  she  told  about  the  hats  Cousin  Marcia 

*'Don't  mind  Miss  Hattie;  she  lives  all 
alone  so  much  that  she  has  to  take  an  interest 
in  other's  affairs.  But  I  should  not  be  too 
quick  to  spend  my  money,  Rowena.  It  will 
melt  in  a  hurry.  Father  warned  me  not  to  let 
you  spend  it  on  Betty  and  Sallie.  You  need 
so  many  things  yourself,  and  you  owe  it  to 
Mrs.  Lagare  and  Madeline  to  be  neatly 
dressed.  I  think  it  would  be  nice  to  get  Betty 
the  new  frock,  and  Sallie  does  need  a  hat 
dreadfully;  but  I  should  stop  there,  until  you 
have  renovated  your  own  wardrobe  a  bit.  And 
besides,  my  dear,  a  month  is  a  month,  you 
know,  and  it  will  be  some  time,  I  suspect, 
before  you  get  your  first  check.     I  will  come 


over  to-morrow,  and  we  will  see  what  we  can 
do  with  what  we  have  on  hand.  I  am  going 
to  give  you  my  blue  gingham.  It  has  shrunk 
since  it  has  been  washed,  and  I  will  make  it 
over  for  you,  if  you  will  have  it." 

But  they  had  not  counted  on  Mrs.  Lagare's 
sharp  brown  eyes.  She  saw  the  little  make- 
shifts; the  faded  gingham  and  the  darned 
white  dress  did  not  escape  her  notice,  for  all 
Dilsey's  care,  and  on  Saturday  morning,  when 
Rowena  put  on  her  hat  to  return  home,  after 
a  long,  happy  morning  at  the  piano,  trying 
over  new  music  with  Madeline,  Mrs.  Lagare 
slipped  a  five-dollar  bill  into  her  hand. 

"If  you  don't  mind,  I  shall  pay  my  debt  by 
the  week,"  she  said.    "It  is  more  convenient." 

"But  this  is  more  than  twenty  dollars  a 
month,"  said  Rowena,  doubtfully.  Mrs. 
Lagare  only  laughed  and  said: 

"And  you  are  more  help,  and  pleasure  too, 


than  I  had  dared  to  hope.  Look  at  Madeline  I 
She  is  as  bright  as  a  cricket." 

And  Madeline  certainly  did  look  happy. 

Rowena  herself  was  very  happy,  too,  as  she 
went  down  the  long  road,  with  the  flowers 
blooming  along  the  way  and  the  birds  singing 
riotously  in  the  trees.  Oh,  how  good  it  was  to 
be  alive  and  well!  If  only  Madeline  could 
run  and  skip  and  dance  along  the  road,  as  she 
was  doing.  Suppose  she  were  lame!  And 
then  Rowena  thought  of  father,  and  how  sorry 
he  would  be,  and  a  great  wave  of  gladness 
filled  her  that  she  was  well  and  strong.  "Some 
day,"  she  thought  as  she  turned  into  the  gate 
and  entered  the  old  shabby  house,  "maybe  I 
shall  be  able  to  help  drive  the  worry  wrinkles 
from  his  face." 



THE  ladies  of  the  family  of  Beauchamp 
had,  one  and  all,  called  on  Mrs.  Lagare, 
with  the  exception  of  old  Madam  Beauchamp. 
Even  Aunt  Annie,  at  last,  had  called  on  the 
strange  cousins  in  the  little  Green  Cottage. 
But,  so  far,  no  one  had  dared  to  speak  to 
Madam  of  the  lame  girl  and  her  mother.  Old 
Dan,  in  his  garrulous  way,  had  told  her  that 
the  Green  Cottage  was  occupied,  but  even  he 
had  not  dared  to  say  by  whom,  except  that  they 
were  ''fur'ners,"  and  that  the  little  daughter 
was  lame. 

It  was  father  who  told  Madam  at  last. 
Father  talked  it  over  one  Sunday  with  Mar- 

cia  and  Aunt  Annie,  with  Rowena  clinging 



to  his  arm,  on  the  way  home  from  morning 

"Some  one  ought  to  tell  her,"  he  said.  "Her 
own  daughter's  child  and  grandchild  I" 

"Why  don't  you  let  Mrs.  Lagare  make 
herself  known  to  Madam?"  said  Aunt  Annie. 
"It  is  not  our  business.  For  my  part,  I  can- 
not understand  why  she  should  have  come 
here — unless  she  thinks  Madam  has  some 

Father  frowned. 

"I  don't  think,"  he  said,  "from  what  I  have 
seen  of  Mrs.  Lagare,  that  she  lacks  for  either 
money  or  delicacy  of  feeling.  And  she  seems 
to  me  to  be  a  woman  of  remarkably  good  sense. 
I  suspect  she  has  sufficient  reasons  for 
coming,  and  will  make  herself  known  to  her 
grandmother  in  time,  but  she  does  not  know 
Madam  as  we  know  her,  and  I  fear  the  shock 
of  the  meeting  for  both  of  them." 


No  one  ever  knew  what  passed  between 
Madam  and  her  nephew  on  that  afternoon 
when  he  entered  her  room  alone  and  broke  the 
news  to  her  of  the  presence  of  her  grandchild 
and  great-grandchild  in  the  village.  But 
father  looked  troubled  when  he  came  out,  and 
Madam  shut  herself  in  her  room  for  days,  and 
would  see  no  one  but  the  maid  who  waited 
upon  her.  She  was  not  sick,  she  said,  and  she 
would  not  have  the  doctor.  And  when  she 
came  downstairs  again  she  was  as  straight  as 
ever,  and  carried  herself  in  a  proud  silence. 

She  sent  Aunt  Annie,  however,  to  Mrs. 
Lagare,  and  Mrs.  Lagare  told  father  after- 
wards of  her  message,  when  he  came  one  night 
for  Rowena  when  she  had  stayed  to  tea  at  the 
Green  Cottage. 

"She  thinks  me  an  impostor,"  she  said 
gently,  "and  bade  your  sister  let  me  know 
that  she  was  a  broken  old  woman,  with  few 


worldly  goods  to  leave  to  any  one,  even  if  she 
were  so  inclined." 

Her  brown  eyes  filled. 

"I  do  not  need  money,"  she  said,  simply. 
"We  have  enough.  But  when  my  mother  died 
I  promised  her  to  come  and  find  her  mother 
and  give  her  her  dying  love  and  blessing.  She 
yearned  so  for  her,  always." 

"Perhaps  I  did  wrong,"  began  Mr. 

She  interrupted  him.  "No,  I  am  glad  you 
prepared  her.  The  shock  might  have  been  too 
great  otherwise,  for  she  is  an  old  woman.  But 
I  do  not  give  up  hope."  And,  unconsciously, 
she  laid  her  hand  on  Madeline's  bright  head. 

But  if  Madam  was  cold  the  others  were 
inclined  to  be  kind.  Even  Aunt  Annie  thawed 
under  the  widow's  gentle,  unassuming  manner. 
And  every  one  loved  Madeline.  The  village 
folk  learned  to  watch  for  the  pony  cart  with  its 


pretty  burden,  for  the  child's  physical  infirm- 
ities had  not  served  to  dull  the  bright 
mind  and  joyous  nature.  Her  laugh  rang 
with  merriment,  and  the  woods  resounded 
often  with  the  shouts  of  the  four  girls, 
for  she  made  friends  with  Sallie  and  Betty, 
and  the  four  often  picnicked  together  in 
the  woods.  The  great  doctor  in  New  York 
had  ordered  Madeline  to  be  kept  out  of  doors 
a  great  deal,  and  in  the  fall,  if  she  was 
stronger,  she  was  to  go  back  to  the  city,  when 
the  doctor  hoped  that  maybe,  through  an 
operation,  the  lameness  might  be  cured. 




WHAT  happy  summer  days  they  were  to 
Rowenal  The  girFs  beauty-loving 
nature  reveled  in  the  pretty  surroundings  of 
Madeline's  home,  and  the  craving  for  music 
was  satisfied  as  never  before.  The  two  girls 
read  together,  and  Rowena  began  to  study 
French  under  Madeline's  tutelage,  assisted  by 
Mrs.  Lagare. 

The  money  paid  for  the  mornings  with 
Madeline  bought  the  pretty  clothes  that  she 
had  longed  for,  with  something  besides  for 
Sallie  and  Betty,  and  even  an  occasional  book 
for  father  and  some  new  music  now  and  then. 

As  the  days  grew  warmer  it  became  the 

custom  for  Pierre  to  drive  Rowena  home  in 



the  pony  cart,  and  sometimes  Madeline  would 
drive  with  her,  when  she  was  strong  enough, 
to  spend  the  rest  of  the  day  in  the  old  garden 
with  the  girls.  It  was  a  beautiful  old  garden, 
and  the  shabby  old  house  was  a  delightful 
place  in  Madeline's  eyes.  Old  Dilsey  loved 
the  delicate  child,  as  did  every  one,  and  she 
told  the  girls  wonderful  stories  of  the  old 
days,  when  the  Beauchamps  had  owned  most 
of  the  country  thereabout,  and,  according 
to  Dilsey,  lived  a  life  of  splendor  and 

Rowena's  birthday  was  in  July,  and 
Madeline  begged  that  she  might  be  allowed 
to  remain  for  dinner  after  the  morning  lessons, 
promising  to  drive  over  with  her  in  the  after- 
noon. Rowena  was  surprised  when  shortly 
after  dinner  Jubal  came  over,  bearing  Cousin 
Marcia's  suitcase,  packed  with  Rowena's 
prettiest   white   frock,    with  blue   sash   and 


ribbons,  and  her  best  shoes.  Rowena  donned 
the  fresh  clothes,  wondering  a  little,  and 
Madeline  insisted  on  dressing,  too,  in  honor 
of  the  birthday,  and  the  two  girls  looked  very 
fresh  and  lovely  as  they  drove  off  in  the 
direction  of  The  Cedars. 

And  when  they  reached  The  Cedars  there 
were  Sallie  and  Betty  in  white  frocks  and  fresh 
ribbons,  and  a  number  of  other  fresh-faced 
cousins  in  holiday  clothes. 

"It 's  a  party,"  volunteered  Betty,  running 
out  to  meet  them,  "a  surprise  party  I" 

There  was  a  flower-decked  chair  for  Made- 
line, and  there  were  little  tables  set  out  in  the 
garden,  where  Dilsey  and  Cousin  Marcia, 
Dilsey  in  a  highly  starched  calico  and  Cousin 
Marcia  in  a  blue  lawn,  were  busily  setting  out 
cakes  and  fruit.  And  there  was  a  great  freezer 
of  cream  that  Mrs.  Lagare  had  sent  over,  with 
the  fruit,  in  the  morning — for  it  was  Mrs. 


Lagare  who  had  thought  of  the  party  for  her 

After  all  the  excitement  of  greetings  and 
ejaculations  of  delight  Cousin  Marcia  came  in 
and,  laughing,  blindfolded  the  wondering 
young  hostess.  Then,  with  Madeline  on  her 
crutch,  they  all  filed  slowly  into  the  shabby 
drawing  room,  sweet  with  flowers,  and  when 
Cousin  Marcia  untied  the  handkerchief  and 
drew  it  from  Rowena's  eyes,  there  in  the  place 
of  the  old  cracked  Knabe,  between  the  two 
south  windows,  was  a  beautiful  little  upright 
piano,  a  gift,  also,  from  Mrs.  Lagare.  Rowena 
gave  one  startled  cry,  and  then  buried  her  head 
on  Cousin  Marcia's  shoulder  and  burst  into 
tears.  But  the  tears  did  not  last  long,  and  soon 
the  smiles  had  chased  the  drops  away,  the  room 
was  ringing  with  music,  and  every  one  was 

What  a  wonderful  day  it  was!     And  that 


night  when  Rowena  said  her  prayers  she  felt 
very  thankful  to  the  loving  Father  who  had 
caused  such  a  beautiful,  kind  thought  to 
blossom  into  a  beautiful  deed  in  the  hearts 
of  those  who  loved  her. 



THE  summer  wore  away,  and  Madeline 
seemed  to  grow  stronger  each  day,  in 
spite  of  the  heat.  The  girls  spent  much  time 
in  the  cool,  green  woods,  and  the  companion- 
ship did  the  frail,  lonely  girl  a  world  of  good. 

September  came,  and  soon  the  nuts  would 
be  ripe,  and  the  haws,  already  yellowing  on 
the  thorny  bushes. 

Mrs.  Lagare  and  Madeline  were  to  remain 

until  November.     They  intended  to  spend 

Hallowe'en  in  the  Green  Cottage,  and  then 

they  were  to  leave  for  the  city,  where  the 

doctors  hoped,  by  the  next  summer,  to  cure 

Madeline  of  her  lameness. 

Mrs.  Lagare  had  written  twice  to  Madam 



Beauchamp,  but  no  reply  to  either  of  her  notes 
had  been  received. 

Rowena  walked  into  the  Green  Cottage  one 
morning  to  find  Madeline  sleeping,  having 
spent  a  bad  night,  and  Mrs.  Lagare  in  tears. 

Mrs.  Lagare  had  told  the  girl  in  a  few  simple 
words  of  the  rebuffs  received  from  Madam. 

"What  a  hard  old  woman  she  is  I"  said 
Rowena,  angrily. 

"She  is  a  mistaken  old  woman,  my  dear.  She 
does  not  understand.  She  has  suffered  much, 
and  we  must  not  judge  her." 

But  I  am  afraid  Rowena  did  judge  her  very 
harshly,  in  her  impetuous  young  heart. 

The  next  day  when  she  came  Madeline  had 
again  spent  a  restless  night,  full  of  pain,  and 
by  the  last  of  the  week,  in  a  panic  of  fear,  the 
great  doctor  in  New  York  was  telegraphed  for, 
and  even  Rowena  was  not  allowed  to  see  poor 



One  afternoon,  the  third  day  after  she  had 
been  excluded  from  Madeline's  room,  Rowena 
walked  up  the  hill  and  knocked  at  Madam 
Beauchamp's  front  door.  When  the  great 
brass  knocker  resounded  she  felt  her  heart  leap 
with  fear,  and  her  face  was  very  pale  when  she 
asked  for  Madam. 

Madam  came  into  the  drawing  room,  leaning 
a  little  on  a  gold-headed  cane,  for  she  had 
grown  feeble  in  these  last  few  months. 

Rowena  had  not  decided  what  she  would 
say.  She  had  followed  a  blind  girlish  impulse, 
and  when  she  stood  facing  Madam  she  was 
tongue-tied.  And  then  she  said  what  she  had 
never  intended  to  say. 

"Oh,  you  cruel,  cruel,  old  woman !"  she  cried. 
"How  can  you  be  so  hard, — and  your  own 
child's  daughter  in  so  much  sorrow,  and 
Madeline  may  be  dying!" 

At   the    name    ^Madeline,'    the    color    left 


Madam's  face.  But  she  raised  herself,  stiffly 
and  proudly. 

"And  who  are  you,  may  I  ask,  who  come  to  my 
house,  with  your  impertinent  interference*?" 
For  she  could  not  see  well  in  the  darkened 
room,  with  its  heavy  hangings. 

And  then  Rowena  found  herself.  She  gave 
Madam  a  chair  and  sat  down  beside  her,  and 
the  old  woman  listened  while  the  girl  stumbled 
on,  telling  her  story  as  best  she  could,  with 
tears  and  entreaties,  and  reproaches  sometimes. 

Through  it  all  Madam  said  never  a  word. 
But  who  shall  say  what  sorrow  tugged  at  her 
heartstrings,  or  what  tears  she  wept,  in  the 

At  the  end  she  laid  her  hand  on  Rowena's 
bright  head. 

"Child,"  she  said,  "I  like  your  spirit.  You 
are  a  true  Beauchamp.  Tell  Dan  to  get  the 


And  half  an  hour  later  the  amazed  in- 
habitants of  Beauchampville  watched  the 
old-fashioned  barouche  wonderingly,  as  it 
bowled  down  the  road,  old  Dan  driving  the 
bays,  and  Rowena  sitting  silent  and  bright- 
eyed  beside  the  old  lady,  who  was  shaken  out 
of  her  stony  calm,  with  spots  of  warm  color 
burning  in  either  cheek. 

Madam  stayed  at  the  Green  Cottage  until 
Madeline  was  out  of  danger.  No  one  ever 
knew  what  passed  between  the  two — the  proud 
old  woman  and  the  mother.  But  Madam 
brooded  over  Madeline,  and  the  eyes  were  soft 
and  warm  when  she  stroked  the  bright  hair. 

When  the  girl  was  stronger  and  out  of  all 
danger  the  Green  Cottage  was  closed,  and 
Madeline  and  her  mother  went  to  spend  the 
last  few  weeks  with  Madam  at  Valambrosa. 



THOSE  were  happy  weeks  in  the  great 
house,  for  Madam,  a  Madam  the  girls 
had  never  known  or  imagined  before,  made  the 
cousins  welcome,  and  there  were  beautiful 
mornings  in  the  lovely  garden  and  wonderful 
evenings  in  the  wide  hall  about  the  great  old- 
fashioned  fireplace,  where  Madam  told  them 
stories  of  her  girlhood,  spent  in  the  quaint 
city  of  Charleston,  and  of  her  own  mother  and 
grandmother,  who  had  both  been  belles  and 
beauties  in  their  day.  There  was  a  wonderful 
garret  full  of  queer  old  furniture,  and  in  the 
cedar  chests  were  gowns  and  bonnets  half  a 
century  old. 
One  night  they  had  tableaux  in  the  drawing 



room,  and  Madam  herself  superintended  the 
building  of  the  stage,  which  old  Dan  im- 
provised for  the  occasion.  All  the  aunts  and 
cousins  were  invited,  and  afterwards  there  was 
a  magic-lantern  show. 

Mrs.  Lagare  and  Madeline  were  to  leave  f c 
New  York  the  first  week  in  November,  and  on 
Hallowe'en  all  the  cousins  were  invited  to  a 
party  at  Valambrosa.  What  a  wonderful 
party  it  was,  and  what  a  happy  time  the  girls 
had  getting  ready  for  the  great  event! 
Madam  directed,  old  Dan  and  young  Dan  both 
gave  their  services,  while  Cousin  Marcia  spent 
the  day  stringing  red  and  green  peppers  from 
the  farm,  and  popcorn  and  pine  cones  for  dec- 
orations, and  the  girls  were  here,  there,  and 
everywhere,  helping  at  first  one  and  then 
another  of  the  delightful  tasks.  Madam  sent 
to  the  city  and  ordered  little  black  witches  with 
pointed  caps,  on  broomsticks,  flying  over  tipsy 


looking  yellow  moons,  and  Dan  made  numbers 
of  Jack-o'-lanterns  out  of  big  orange-colored 
pumpkins.  Workmen  came  out  and  spent  the 
morning  doing  wonderful  things  to  the  elec- 
tric lights,  and  at  night  each  moon  and  each 
Jack-o'-lantern  glowed  softly,  giving  a  weird 
effect  to  the  gayly  decorated  room. 

The  garret  chests  were  ransacked  of  their 
finery,  and,  amid  much  gayety,  Rowena  and 
Madeline  were  decked  in  the  quaint,  short- 
waisted  gowns  of  half  a  century  ago,  with  the 
wide  skirts,  fichus,  and  mutton-leg  sleeves,  and 
the  tiny  mob  caps  on  their  sunny  heads. 

A  little  throne  was  built  at  one  end  of  the 
room,  decorated  with  bright  paper  roses,  which 
Cousin  Marcia  had  taught  Madeline's  deft 
fingers  to  make,  and  here  she  and  her  crutch 
were  installed,  with  a  banner  of  white  and 
silver  above,  with  the  lettering  in  silver:  "The 
Queen  of  the  Revelry." 


And  happy  revelry  it  was,  for  Madam  knew 
wonderful  games,  and  before  the  evening  was 
over  a  quaint,  gaudily  dressed  gypsy  knocked 
at  the  door  and  asked  for  admittance,  and 
volunteered  to  tell  the  young  ladies'  fortunes. 

Betty  was  to  be  a  wonderful  writer;  Sallie 
was  to  marry  a  Prince  Charming;  Madeline 
was  to  get  well  and  strong  under  the  great 
New  York  doctors. 

When  the  gypsy,  who  carried  herself  very 
much  like  Madam,  came  to  Rowena,  she  took 
the  girl's  long,  slim  fingers  in  hers: 

"You  are  to  live  in  a  distant  city,"  she  said, 
"and  you  will  be  a  musician  who  will  give 
much  happiness  to  others." 

And  that  night,  when  Rowena  lay  thinking 
happily  of  the  wonderful  evening,  the  words 
came  back  to  her  again  and  again  : 

"Oh,  if  it  were  only  possible!  If  only  the 
gypsy's  prophecy  might  come  true!" 



MRS.  LAG  ARE  waited  only  long  enough 
for  Madeline  to  become  rested  from  the 
effects  of  the  Hallowe'en  party,  and  then  they 
said  good-by  to  the  Green  Cottage  and 

Madam  drove  Mrs.  Lagare  and  Betty  and 
Sallie  in  her  old-fashioned  carriage,  and  Made- 
line and  Rowena  drove  to  the  station  in  the 
pony  cart. 

It  was  a  sad  parting  between  the  girls,  for 
Madeline  and  Rowena  had  become  much 
attached,  and  Rowena  cried  a  little  as  the  train 
pulled  out  and  Madeline,  pale  but  smiling, 
waved  them  good-by. 

The  boy  from  the  livery  stable  took  the  pony 



cart  to  the  village,  and  Rowena  drove  back  in 
the  carriage  with  the  girls  and  Madam. 
Madam  bade  Dan  drive  Betty  and  Salliehome, 
but  carried  Rowena  off  to  the  great  house  with 
her  to  tea. 

Afterward,  as  they  sat  in  the  drawing  room 
before  the  cheery  iire  that  crackled  on  the 
wide  hearth.  Madam  suddenly  said,  in  her  ab- 
rupt way : 

"Can  you  write,  Rowena^" 

Rowena  looked  up  in  surprise : 

"Yes,  Madam." 

"I  mean,  can  you  write  so  one  can  read? 
Most  girls  write  abominably." 

"Father  says  I  write  a  very  legible  hand." 

"Well,  let's  see."  And  Madam  handed 
her  a  portfolio. 

Rowena,  wondering,  wrote  her  name,  and 
then  Madam's,  and  the  line,  "We  live  in  deeds, 
not  words." 


Madam  looked  at  the  writing  critically. 

"Yes,  that  is  a  fairly  good  hand  for  a  girl. 
How  would  you  like  to  come  to  me  three  times 
a  week,  and  read  to  me  and  write  my  letters*? 
I  shall  want  your  whole  morning,  but  I  shall 
pay  you  the  same  salary  Mrs.  Lagare  gave 

How  Rowena's  heart  bounded  I  Already 
there  was  a  little  sum  set  aside  toward  the 
music  lessons  she  longed  to  take,  and  now  this 
meant  many  comforts  and  maybe  a  little  more 
toward  the  lessons. 

"Oh,  Madam,  of  course  I  will  come!"  And 
she  kissed  the  old  lady,  timidly,  and  went  home 
treading  on  air,  in  spite  of  her  longing  for 

It  was  ten  o'clock  the  next  morning  that 
Rowena,  practicing  some  new  music,  saw  old 
Dan  drive  up  to  the  gate  in  the  pony  cart.  The 
girls  ran  out  in  surprise  and  delight  at  seeing 


Prince  again.     Dan  handed  Rowena  a  note 
addressed  to 

The  Girls 
The  Cedars 

When  she  tore  it  open  she  read : 

"Dear  Rowena  and  Sallie  and  Bettina  : 

"I  am  sending  you  Prince  as  a  surprise-good-by  present, 
a  'remember  me,'  as  Betty  would  say.  Please  love  him  very 
much  and  take  good  care  of  him  until  next  summer. 

"Your  loving, 


"P.  S.  -Mother  thinks  perhaps  he  had  better  be  kept  at 
the  stable,  where  she  has  made  arrangements  for  him,  but 
you  are  to  have  him  every  day  as  often  as  you  like." 

How  the  girls  hugged  him,  and  what  a  babel 
of  delight  there  was  I 

They  drove  to  the  station  for  father  on 
Saturday  afternoon,  and  it  was  a  jubilant 
story  they  told.  And  father  listened  with  his 
arm  about  Rowena,  and  a  happy  smile  on  his 
tired  face. 


That  night,  when  the  others  went  to  bed, 
Rowena  lingered  as  usual : 

"Daddy,"  she  said,  "somehow  your  eyes  look 
smiley,  and  the  little  trouble  wrinkles  are  n't 
near  as  deep  as  usual." 

And  daddy  drew  her  to  him,  as  he  said : 

"I  am  happier,  little  daughter.  Do  you  re- 
member my  telling  you  early  in  the  summer  of 
meeting  an  old  university  friend  in  Raleigh'? 
Well,  he  has  acquired  an  interest  in  a  big 
publishing  house  in  New  York,  and  he  has 
brought  out  a  book  I  have  written  during  the 
long,  lonely  evenings  when  I  have  been  away 
from  my  girls,  and  the  publishers  think  it  is 
going  to  be  a  success.  If  it  is,  that  will  mean 
all  the  debts  paid,  and  then  father  can  give  his 
girls  some  of  the  comforts  and  pleasures  he 
has  had  to  deny  them." 

"Oh,  daddy !  How  glad  I  am !  Not  for  us, 
for  we  are  happy  as  we  are.    But,  oh,  I  am  so 


glad  the  little  worry  wrinkles  are  going,  and 
your  eyes  are  getting  glad." 

And  she  kissed  him,  happily.  He  was  such 
a  dear,  good,  unselfish  daddy,  and  Rowena 
loved  him  very  dearly. 



THEY  did  not  hear  often  from  Madeline, 
for  the  doctors  would  not  allow  her  to 
exert  herself,  but  Madam  heard  frequently 
from  Mrs.  Lagare,  and  the  reports  were  very 
encouraging.  The  doctors  thought  that  Made- 
line might  grow  well  and  strong  in  time,  and 
maybe  some  day  walk  and  run  about  like  other 

December  was  drawing  to  a  close,  and  it 
was  Christmas  Eve.  Rowena  was  putting  on 
her  coat  and  hat,  preparatory  to  leaving 
Madam,  after  a  rather  arduous  morning  when 
Madam  had  been  cross  and  absent-minded, 
when  the  old  lady  said  abruptly: 

"When  Madeline  is  well  how  would  you 
like  to  go  to  New  York  to  study?" 



Rowena  was  so  surprised  that  she  sank  right 
down  on  the  horse-hair  sofa,  and  looked  at 
Madam  without  a  word. 

"Why,  child,"  cried  Madam,  "don't  look  so 
frightened.  Why  not?  You  have  talent,  that 
is  plain  to  see,  and  I  think  you  have  a  right  to  a 
chance.  There  are  no  music  masters  here,  and 
I  think  Madeline  would  like  to  have  you. 
There  I  Don't  eat  me  up  I"  For  Rowena,  by 
this  time  recovered  from  her  surprise,  was 
hugging  and  kissing  and  laughing  and  crying 
over  Madam,  in  the  most  ridiculous  way. 

And  Madam  laughed,  and  pushed  her  cap 
straight,  and  seemed  to  like  it,  for  all  her 
brusque  words. 

That  night,  as  Rowena  and  Cousin  Marcia 
and  old  Dilsey  were  decorating  the  drawing 
room  with  evergreens,  and  hanging  the  trim- 
ming and  presents  on  the  little  holly  tree 
that  Jubal  had  found  for  them,  Rowena's 


face  was  grave,  and  very  happy,  as  she  said: 
"Cousin  Marcia,  I  often  think  how  I  used  to 
grumble  about  things  not  being  as  I  liked,  and 
now  I  can't  be  happy  and  grateful  enough.  It 
has  been  such  a  beautiful,  beautiful  year  I" 

On  Christmas  Day  a  box  came  for  the  girls 
from  New  York.  In  it  there  were  a  box  of 
candy  and  several  books  for  Betty,  some 
ribbons  and  a  box  of  dainty  handkerchiefs  for 
Sallie,  a  dress  for  Dilsey  and  tobacco  for  Jubal, 
a  book  for  father,  and  for  Rowena  there  was 
new  music,  a  dainty  gold  pin^  and  a  letter 
from  Mrs.  Lagare: 

"The  doctors  are  very  encouraging  about 
Madeline,"  she  wrote,  "and  think  by  the  spring 
she  may  be  able  to  walk.  At  any  rate,  my  child 
is  greatly  improved. ,. 

"Madam  has  written  me  about  her  plans  for 
your  education,  Rowena,  and  you  are  to  come 


to  us  if  you  like.  We  shall  have  a  pretty  flat, 
convenient  to  music  masters,  and  not  very  far 
from  the  best  musical  center,  and  we  want  you 
very  much.  We  shall  try  to  make  you  happy 
and  shall  take  good  care  of  you,  and  know  we 
shall  all  be  proud  of  our  musical  girl  some 

And  as  Rowena  folded  up  the  note,  after 
reading  it  to  father,  she  said  : 

"I  may  never  be  a  musician,  father,  but  I 
shall  try  to  be  so  patient  and  brave  and  good 
that  you  will  all  be  proud  of  me,  anyhow." 

And  father  kissed  her  very  tenderly  as  he 
said : 

*'If  you  are  that  we  shall  all  be  prouder  of 
you  than  if  you  were  the  greatest  musician  in 
the  world.  It  is  the  homely,  everyday  virtues 
that  count  for  the  most,  after  all,  Rowena." 



Olivia  McCabb 

Illustrated  in  colors  by  Hope'Dunlap 

*'  In  this  beautifully  colored  illustrated  book,  Olivia 
McCabe  has  some  charming  tales  of  fairyland  which  are 
ever  so  fascinating  to  the  child  reader.  Hope  Dunlap  has 
provided  beautiful  pictures  in  soft  rich  colors  which  dehght 
the  eye."    Boston  Budget. 

8vo  (For  children  under  twelve) Price  $1.25 


Ida  Huntington 
Illustrated  in  colors  by  Maginel  Wright  Enright 

*'As  an  interpretation  of  nature  suitable  to  children, 
this  book  is  quite  as  successful  as  Miss  Huntington's  first 
popular  book  'Peter  Pumpkin  in  Wonderland.'  The  pictures 
are  a  source  of  endless  pleasure."    Galveston  News. 

8vo  (For  children  under  twelve) Price  $1.25 


Miss  Mulock 
Illustrations  in  colors  by  Hope  Dunlap 

"A  dehghtful  tale  about  the  most  beautiful  prince  that 
ever  was  bom.  Thus  begins  a  most  engaging  story  for 
the  little  ones.  The  beautiful  illustrations  in  color  are  by 
Hope  Dunlap."     Boston  Globe. 

8vo  (For  children  under  twelve) Price  $1.25 



Verse  Books  for  Children 



Illtistrated  in  colors  by  Ruth  M.  Hallock 

"One  in  ten  thousand.  Children  love  a  book  with  clear 
print,  smooth  paper  and  lots  and  lots  of  pictures.  The 
jingles  here  appeal  to  the  child.  Ruth  HaUock,  the  illus- 
trator has  done  her  work  remarkably  well."  Peoria 
Evening  Journal. 

Large  quarto  (For  children  under  seven) $1.25 


Louise  Ayres  Garnett 

Illustrated  in  colors  and  black  and  white 
by  Hope  Dunlap 

"Very  charming  with  its  lilting  verses  and  its  generous 
supply  of  pictures,  is  The  Rhyming  Ring.  The  book  is 
filled  with  pretty  child  fancies  of  Mrs.  Garnett  and  illus- 
trated by  the  imaginative  pen  and  brush  of  Hope  Dunlap." 
Brooklyn  Eagle. 

Large  quarto  (For  children  under  twelve) $1.25 


Robert  Browning 
Illustrated  in  colors  by  Hope  Dunlap 

"May  Robert  Browning's  ryhmes  of  Hamelin  town  long 
continue  to  pipe  to  the  children's  fancy!  Hope  Dunlap's 
quaint  and  very  likable  pictures  are  in  themselves  a  magic 
commentary  on  the  magic  rhyme  in  this  new  book." 
Denver  Colorado  News. 

Large  quarto  (For  children  under  twelve) $1.25 





William  L.  Hill 

Illustrated  in  colors  by  Fanny  Y.  Cory 

"The  neatest  and  most  original  of  the  season 's  output  of 
children's  books.  The  book  is  a  classic  of  its  kind.  Jackie- 
boy  in  Rainbowland  will  be  much  read." 

The  Helena  Daily  Independent,  Helena,  Mont. 
8vo  (For  children  under  twelve) Price  $1.25 


Elia  Peattie 
Illustrated  in  colors  by  Katherine  Merrill 

"Never  in  the  history  of  book-making  have  there  been 
such  wonderfully  attractive  books  for  children.  Among  the 
most  artistic  of  these  is  'Edda  and  the  Oak.'  " 

Nashville  Banner,  Nashville,  Tenn. 

8vo  (For  children  under  twelve) Price  $1.25 


Julia  Brown 

Illustrated  in  colors  by  Lucy  Fitch  Perkins 

"Here  are  stories  of  enchantment  touched  with  the  old 
spirit  of  romance,  yet  written  for  children  to-day.  The  tales 
are  about  beautiful  things,  told  in  charming  prose,  which,  by 
the  way,  is  exquisitely  illustrated  by  Lucy  Fitch  Perkins." 

Chicago  Tribune. 

8vo  (For  children  under  twelve Price  $1.25 




by  prominent  authors  and  illustrated 
by  well  known  artists 


This  Series  consists  of  the  dehghtful  old  favorites.  Little 
Miss  Muffet,  Little  Boy  Blue,  Little  Bo-Peep,  Old  Mother 
Hubbard,  Peter  Piper,  Old  King  Cole,  Simple  Simon,  and 
Cinderella,  bound  separately.  Printed  in  good  type,  and 
beautifully  illustrated  in  colors  by  Blanche  Fisher  Wright. 

Four  full  page  colored  pictures  to  each  book,  and  innumer- 
able text  illustrations. 

Bound  in  richly  colored  paper  covers  with  artistic  center 
plates.      Size  ioxi2 Price  $0.25  each 


By  Julia  Brown,  author  of  "The  Enchanted  Peacock",  one 
of  the  successes  of  191 1. 

Another  set  of  fairy  tales  full  of  charm  and  originality,  six 
in  number  and  quite  as  fascinating  as  those  in  the  Enchant- 
ed Peacock.  The  new  book  takes  its  name  from  the  first  and 
longest  story  in  the  series. 

Illustrated  with  eight  full  pages  in  color  by  Maginel  Wright 
Enright  and  colored  paster  on  cover. 

Size  8vo  (For  children  under  twelve) Price  $1.25 


By  Mrs.  A.  S.  Hardy,  author  of  "The  Hall  of  Shells",  and 
"Sea  Stories  for  Wonder  Eyes." 

Nature  stories  so  true,  so  simply  and  beautifully  told  that 
they  have  all  the  effect  of  fairy  stories.  At  the  same  time 
they  convey  a  world  of  information  in  a  most  attractive  form. 

Profusely  illustrated  in  black  and  white  from  drawings  by 
Milo  Winter  and  from  photos. 

Size  8vo  (For  children  under  twelve) Price  I1.25